By the Light of the Moon
by silverfox1611
Summary: The king rides North to Winterfell, putting in motion events that will tear the whole of Westeros asunder. Gendry Baratheon, first born and heir to the Seven Kingdoms, loathes the trip. But will meeting a certain wild young Stark change his perspective of the icy North. In this Game of Thrones, family will slay family, enemies will become allies and friend will turn foe!
1. Chapter 1

**_A.N. HEY GUYS! This is my first ever attempt at doing this, sorry if it sucks! Basically this is a culmination of me being really bored and watching WWWAAAYYY to much G.O.T! Not to mention I've just started the last book in the Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm rambling a bit aren't I (I am truly sorry). I've always loved the idea that Gendry was Roberts heir and a true born son, and how that might have changed the story, so I thought "what the heck, lets give it a go" and started typing. I also love Arya to pieces! Both Arya and Gendry are a bit older in this, Arya being around 17ish, give or take. Will probably stick to the book/tv storyline for a while, but will most likely end up somewhere completely different (who knows, certainly not me!). That's enough from me, shut up already!_**

**_Disclaimer: As per usual, I own nothing and no-one ect ect_**

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The forest was quiet, the chirping of blackbirds and the wind through the trees were all there was to break the silence. The steady plodding of a horses hooves thudding against the earth intruded on the natural sounds of the Northern woods. A tall, dark bay horse steadily made its way through the forest, picking its way around branches and logs and rocks. The girl astride it wore her long wavy hair loose, a thick brown waterfall down her back. Instead of a dress, breeches and a tunic adored her slim figure; a bow and quiver sat between her shoulder-blades. The sunlight broke through the dense greenery above her, spotting her delicate face with dapples of light and dark. An almost silent rustle and the snap of a twig announced the arrival of a huge wolf, padding steadily beside her, like a spirit of a long gone being. Its' grey coat was thick and shaggy. Long legs brought the body of the wolf close to the girl's feet, even on horseback, the beast was monstrous in size, bigger than most ponies. A Direwolf.

"Arya! Arya! Where in Seven hells are you?" A loud, slightly irritated voice shatter the serene bubble of silence. Arya sighed loudly and reined in her horse, turning the bay mare around to see her brother thundering through the forest behind her. Robb's Direwolf, Greywind, padded along beside his chestnut gelding, running to greet his pack-mate with a gentle lick and a nudge of the flank. "What are you doing out here Arya? The king is on his way, in fact I'd be surprised if he wasn't at Winterfell already!" Robb pulled his horse to a stop beside her own, his face pulled into a disapproving frown. He acted like her father sometimes.

"I was going for a ride, Robb. No harm done. You know that once we're hosting the king Mother and Father will expect me to act like a lady! I just wanted a bit of freedom before a week of boring feasts and stuck up princes." Arya pouted slightly at her older brother. The heir of Winterfell couldn't help but smile. His sister was one of a kind, wild as a wolf, fierce as a Northern blizzard and pretty as a winter rose. Even in her men's breeches and tunic she had an air of feminine beauty around her. As a young girl she had been unruly and stubborn, boyish, known as horse-face. Although she was still stubborn and unruly, she had grown into her looks, her boyish figure had filled out into a more curvaceous, womanly form. Her hair had grown out, getting darker until it was only a few shades away from black; her eyes had paled from a dark, stormy grey to almost silver, glittering in the wane sunshine.

"Well, be that as it may, if you don't get your ass home fast Mother is going to kill you. Or even worse, put you in a dress!" Arya shuddered at the thought. She sighed again. Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms and 'Protector of the Realm' was a renowned drunk and said to be overly fond of whores, his son was rumoured to be a vile, arrogant boy, his wife a sly, backstabber. Most of the Lannister family would be there. This was not going to be a fun few weeks. Robb gave her a sympathetic look. Their father always commented how much like her aunt Lyanna she was, just as wild and fiercely beautiful. Everyone from the wall to Dorne knew that the King still mourned her death and longed for their Aunt; no one was eager to see his reaction to Arya's likeness.

"Well, better get this over and done with. Race you home!" Arya shot Robb a challenging grin before putting her heels to her mares sides, lunging forwards and rocketing off through the forest, Nymeria close behind. The full grown Direwolf easily kept pace with the horse, her tongue lolling with joy as she ran. The heavy sound of Robb's horse galloping to catch up got closer behind them. Arya glanced over her shoulders, waiting until Robb was half a horses-length behind her, before urging her horse forwards again. They burst from the Godswood like a bolt from a crossbow, racing across the open ground. Winterfell was in sight now, only a few minutes away. Robbs slightly larger horse slowly pulled up next to them, the sheer enjoyment of the ride showing on his handsome Tully features. Arya leant forwards, gripping some of her mare's dark mane in her fists, urging to her to go faster. Gradually, inch by inch, Robb fell behind. Arya laughed with joy and exhilaration.

"Is that the best you can do Robb?" She threw over her shoulder as the horses galloped through the archways into the courtyard of Winterfell. Arya pulled her horse up, both of them breathing heavily, the mares sides were flecked with foam and sweat. Nymeria slid to a halt beside her, tongue lolling as she panted and giving her a wolfy grin. Robb followed swiftly in much the same condition with Greywind tailing him. She grinned happily at her big brother before almost falling off her horse. It was only then she realised that the courtyard was bustling, and not with Northmen. Most of the eyes that were now trained on her were strangers. Southerners! A stable boy rushed forwards to take both the horses away, leaving her to gaze at the congregation of the Kings Court that had travelled north. A fat, red-faced man with a crown of golden stag horns atop his head was laughing loudly beside her Father, his chuckles the only real sound in the courtyard. The King! A golden haired women scowled evilly in her direction, a boy who looked just like her, mimicking her look. They were both dressed in rich silks and jewellery. They must be the Queen and Prince Joffery. Beside her stood a young girl and an even younger boy, again both had gold hair and green eyes but none of the malice seen in their mother or older sibling. It was the final person who caught Arya's eye. He stood beside who could only be Princess Myrcella, smiling along with the King. He certainly looked like the king, with his dark hair and bright, crystalline blue eyes. The difference was this boy was tall, much taller than Arya, taller than Robb, even taller than her father, maybe even rivalling The Hound; he was thickly built, broad shoulders and strong arms, yet he didn't seem overly brutish. He couldn't have been much older than Sansa, three and twenty at the most. He must be King Roberts oldest, Prince Gendry Baratheon, heir to the Iron Throne.

"You told me the girl was unruly Ned, not completely wild!" The King bellowed, slapping Lord Stark on the back. Shit! Thought Arya. She was in trouble. Robb hurried forward to father's side, leaving her alone in the space the running horses had cleared in the centre of the courtyard.

"I apologise my daughter's tardiness, Your Grace, but..." Ned Stark began. The king cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Nonsense Ned! Why I remember the days when you and me used to race around, young and drunk and stupid. We were bloody fools back then." Lord Stark nodded, smiling slightly. He glanced at his youngest daughter. Her clothes were smeared with dirt, as was her face. A bow stuck out from behind her shoulder, her hair was wild from the wind. The light glinted off a small, thin blade fastened to her belt. She was the exact opposite of a lady; she and her sister were like North and South, Ice and Fire. Lady Stark looked like she was ready to murder the youngest Stark girl. Her nostrils flared as she stormed over to Arya.

"Arya, I think you need to go get cleaned up. Go to your room," Arya opened her mouth to protest. "NOW, Arya!" Catelyn Starks face was thunderous. Her voice sounded calm to most, but to the Stark family, they knew Arya was about to get a hiding. Arya thought better than to complain in front of the royal family and nodded her head. Lord Stark was smiling as Arya scowled. Jon was going red from the effort of not laughing. The king was chuckling openly. Arya scowled even more and shoved her way past Sansa, who was stood, all prim and proper, looking smug at her sisters reprimanding. Nymeria slunk behind her, grumbling slightly at Sansa and Lady before trotting to Arya's heels.

The halls and corridors of Winterfell were quiet, all the servants and staff were preparing for the feast later, or otherwise preoccupied with the royal party. Arya stormed through the Keep, slamming the heavy wooden door closed when she reached her quarters. She flopped down on the soft sheets of the bed and huffed loudly. Not only had her timing been appalling, but her own mother had seen fit to embarrass and humiliate her in front of the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms! The bed creaked, a soft mound of grey fur sprawled out next to her, still panting from their sprint home.

"It was worth it, Nymeria. Just to see the look on fathers face when we came running in. At least it looks like the kings on our side." The huge wolf looked at her, blinked and huffed slightly. She knew exactly what Arya was thinking. Arya rolled over and hugged the wolf, running her hands through her thick, soft coat. A firm knock on the door pulled her away from her Direwolf.

"Arya, could you open the door please?" It was her mother. Catelyn Stark had come to right the errant child. Arya grumbled as she pulled herself to her feet and went to unbolt the door. Her mother stood, looking every bit a lady of the North, her posture straight, the way she held herself demanded respect. She walked past Arya into her room. The floor was covered with clothes and things were strewn haphazardly around her living space. Catelyn frowned disapprovingly.

"Arya, we've spoken about your behaviour. I don't mind that you ride with your brothers or hunt or wear boy's clothes, I've even turned a blind eye to your sword fighting, but could you please at least try and act like a lady for the duration of the Kings visit." Lady Stark placed a hand on her youngest daughters shoulder. She was quite short for her age, especially when compared to Sansa.

"I apologise if I embarrassed you, Mother. I did not realise that the King was here." Arya spoke between gritted teeth, spitting out as sincere an apology as she could manage. She had learnt the hard way that arguing with her mother got her nowhere. Catelyn sighed at her daughter's tone of voice.

"I know it's hard for you Arya. I know Sansa and Jeyne give you grief, but you must try and behave. You know if it were up to your Father you would be running as wild as that wolf of your," Nymeria flicked her ears, looking up and snorting. Catelyn stared at the wolf, raising her eyebrow, "But it's for your own good. The Queen was very disapproving of your behaviour. She was talking to Ned about getting you married off to a Southern lord to try and tame you." Arya whipped round at this.

"If they think I'm going south, they've got another thing coming!" Catelyn stroked Arya's hair soothingly.

"And I wouldn't ask you to. But it's up to your father. You'll have to marry eventually Arya." Arya's silver eyes went dark and swirled with anger. They had had this conversation before and it always ended the same. She was normally good at hiding her emotions, but whenever Catelyn mentioned selling her off like a broodmare, insisting that she would end up going south, away from her home and family, she just felt like giving in to her girly urges and crying. Something about just struck a nerve.

"No! I don't need a stupid man to look after me. Those southern lords can go fuck themselves!"

"Arya! Don't use that foul, language. You will have to marry, whether you like it or not. The sooner you understand that the better!" Catelyn scolded at her foul outburst. Arya felt her fists clench.

"I'd rather fuck a pig than marry one of those fat southern basterds!" Arya wrenched the door open and stormed out, not wanting to continue this fruitless and upsetting argument any longer. She sprinted down the hall with the sound of her mother calling after her, ignoring her lest the tears start falling down her cheeks. She fled through the keep, pushing servants aside and swerving to avoid people. The courtyard was a lot less busy now that the Royal convoy were settling into the Keep, Robert and Ned were in the Crypts paying their respects to Lyanna. Jon was stood talking with Robb and the eldest prince, Gendry. They all turned as Arya burst from the Keep, running like a fleeing deer across the yard, towards the stables.

"Arya?" Jon called after her, concerned for the well-being of his little sister. She ignored him and continued running. The stables were her destination, a horse and some fresh air would be the best way to calm herself. A long gallop in the Godswood would sooth her frazzled nerves. Her favourite horse, a dapple grey mare called Visenya, was holding her head over the door, nickering at her approach. She was glad she hadn't ridden her that morning, the horse was the fastest in Winterfell. Arya unbolted the door as fast as she could, she could hear running feet chasing after her. Jon and Robb had probably heard her mother shrieking and were coming to investigate. Arya dragged a bridle over Visenya's head, fumbling with the buckles. The shouts and footsteps were getting rapidly closer. No time for a saddle, if they caught her she would never see peace. She swung herself up onto the mares back and kicked her forwards. Riding bareback was no problem for Arya, as she rode without a saddle more often than not. The mare shot out of the stable, almost knocking Robb over as she pushed past the group of men who had followed her.

"Arya what the hell are you doing?" Jon grasped her wrist from the ground, stopping her momentarily.

"What does it look like? I'm going for a ride." She pulled her arm from Jon's grasp. Robb had righted himself, and his brows furrowed in a deep frown.

"Arya, get off that horse. You can't just run off. Just talk to us, tell us what's wrong." Arya turned her head slightly as she heard her mother running into the courtyard. She was still chasing her.

"I'm going for a ride Robb. End of story. Don't wait up for me." She pointed Visenya towards the gates and kicked her forwards just as Catelyn Stark rounded the corner to the stables. They cantered under the stone archway, through the open portcullis and out onto the cobbled road. She could distantly hear her mother shouting at Robb to ride after her before she did something stupid. She smirked to herself. They would never catch her now. Visenya was the fastest horse in Winterfell, maybe even the whole of the North. She was one of the most finely bred horses in the North, sired from a Dornish Sandsteed, who were faster than a diving falcon, and a stocky Northern warhorse, giving her the muscle and size and stamina that Arya found so appealing in horses.

Arya pushed her on, galloping down the road, hair and mane flying like manners in the late morning breeze. There were shouts coming from Winterfell, Robb and Jon were probably coming after her. With a squeeze of her thighs, Visenya leaped off the roads and onto the open grass. To the north of Winterfell was vast expanses of farms and moorland, she could lose them there with speed. As much as she loved the Godswood, her horses speed would be wasted there. The ground was firm and quite dry, the last summer snow had melted weeks ago, although the sharp air promised more very soon. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Arya's earlier thoughts. A group of riders was trailing after her. She couldn't make out their faces, but she knew a member of her family would be among them. Arya nearly laughed at their stupidity. She was far lighter than them, minus armour, swords and a saddle, her horse would tire far slower than theirs. She was as good as gone. She focused again on the land ahead of her, judging the best route. The land gradually became sloped, rolling into the distance. The party of men tailing her soon dropped out of sight.

"They won't be catching us anytime soon." Arya whispered to herself. The rolling land around her was blooming with life. A kestrel hovered above a field a small way in the distance. She was coming close to farmland. The hills were crisscrossed with low stone walls and rickety wooden fences, meant for keeping sheep and cattle from wandering. Arya slowed Visenya to a walk, working her way down a stone wall, looking for a gap. She knew that they could easily jump it, but Arya wanted to end up at the Godswood anyway. That was the only place she would get any peace of mind now. The tall trees were visible in the distance, she even fancied that she could see a speck of red; the blood coloured leaves of The Heart Tree. Visenya seemed to know where they were heading, her grey neck bobbing steadily in time to her walk. The warmth off her strong back and thick coat seeped into Arya's legs, she could feel the strong muscles flexing and working. More reasons why she loved riding bareback. She squeezed her calves, pushing the dappled mare into a ground-eating canter, a pace they could keep up for hours. The warm light of the Godswood soon enveloped them in its comforting grasp, like a mother welcoming a lost babe. The birds flitted in the trees, stags bellowed in the distance, life overflowed from the heart of Winterfell. The Heart Tree stood tall and proud, as old as the land itself. Its leaves were more vibrant as any Southern flower, like blood and silk and fire, the trunk and branches were paler than milk, bones bleached in the wane northern sunshine. The face carved into the trunk would seem hostile to others, but to Arya, it seemed like it was greeting her. Arya slipped from Visenya's back, making her way around the small lake that lay at the foot of The Heart Tree. She dropped to her knees when he reached the gnarled roots, breaching the dark soil; giant white snakes, writhing and knotting together. She clasped her hands together in prayer. She prayed for her brothers, her father, her sister, and above all her mother. She prayed that Catelyn Stark would see sense, that she would not send her south with some stranger, who would be shackled to her through marriage. She prayed that she would stay in the North with her family, free of men's greedy eyes and wandering hands. She prayed to the Old Gods and, when they stayed silent, she prayed to the new. And under the watchful eyes of The Heart Tree, she felt a degree of peace. No politics of the kingdom could reach her here, only the sound of birds fluttering through the canopy and rabbits racing through the leaf-litter. Her eyes began to flutter as the songs of the forest lulled her, a mother singing to her restless child, for she truly was a child of the North. The sweet bliss of sleep enveloped her like a warm blanket on a cold night.

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_** A.N. So... Yeah, chapter 1! yay! I'm not going to pester for anything, review if ya wanna, I don't really care, but your opinion is always helpful as I don't know what I'm doing with this story yet. Bye bye for now ! xxxxx **_


	2. Chapter 2

Gendry

The trip North was long; long, dull and tedious. Gendry spent every day of the month long journey riding at the slow pace required by the wheelhouse. Even his horse seemed bored. He could have walked on foot faster. Gendry Baratheon, heir to the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne, was bored to insanity and there was nothing he could do about it. The inordinately large and lavish wooden wheelhouse holding his mother and young siblings crawled forward at a snail's pace, slowing the entire convoy to the same unbearable drag. And his bratty brother was driving him up the wall.

"I hear father plans to marry one of us off to one of those Stark bitches. I wonder who it will be." Joffrey sneered in his annoying high-pitched voice. The blonde boy pushed his horse closer to Gendry's. He had been trying to wind him up the whole journey, and over the last few days of the journey he had become unbearable.

"Shut up Joff!" Gendry snapped. The blonde boy sneered slightly, his distaste for his older brother was evident. Joff's personal guard, Sandor Clegane (The Hound) tailed him like a humongous shadow, his temper as ugly as his face, and a sword taller Joffrey. Gendry could see why his mother had assigned the fearsome warrior to guard her second-born. He had a way of irritating people to the point of violence, and despite having the finest instructors in Westeros, he was a shit swordsman.

"I hear Ned Starks youngest daughter is a real wild wolf. I bet she would be just as wild in bed. If I get her, I'll have to break her in." He laughed at his own comment, giggling with a sadistic, high-pitched tone that would have sounded more at home on a woman. Or a five year old girl.

"I'm going to tell you to shut up one more time, and then I'm going to push your face into the dirt." Gendry threatened before pushing his horse on, cantering up towards where his father rode at the head of the column. Joffrey's disrespect for women, for everything, made Gendry angry, made him want to bury his fist in the disgusting boys face. He kicked his horse on, cantering away from the whiney little shit, up towards the front of the column where his father rode. He soon spotted the bright white cloaks of the Kingsguard and slowed to ride beside him. Robert Baratheon had definitely seen better years. His stomach showed the effect of years of heavy drinking and eating with little battle training or exercise, straining against his belt and clothing. His face was red and chubby, his beard longer than suited him and rather unkempt. The King turned at the approach of his son.

"There you are, my boy. Finally had enough of your little brothers bitching." Robert chuckled. He was always happy to see Gendry, his first born being the most like him out of his four children.

"He was one more word away from being on his arse in the dirt." They both smiled at that. Although Gendry frowned upon many of the things his father did, the drinking, the whoring and fathering of basterds all around the city of Kings Landing, he did respect him greatly; if not for what he was then, but for what he once was, a great warrior and military leader, capable of rallying entire armies to his banners merely by the words of war and encouragement coming from his mouth. He admired that he had always fought at the front of a battle, commanding from where the commands where most needed instead of hiding in tents at the back of the war.

They walked on beside each other down the Kingsroad, talking on the monotonous pace of their journey, Robert telling his son of the wonders of Winterfell and the pride and honour of Lord Eddard Stark. Before too long, a scout came galloping back to the main column, proclaiming that Winterfell would soon be in sight. The pace of the entire escort seemed to pick up, everyone eager to get within the great walls of Winterfell after the long journey North.

Sure enough, after no more than two hour, the grey speck of the Northern castle was visible, growing steadily larger and clearer as they got closer. They heard shouts coming from the battlements and watchtowers; they had been spotted. Gendry sighed and began bracing himself for what would surely be a night a false courtesies and a dull banquet in honour of the kings' arrival. King Robert glanced at his son and saw his slumped shoulders. He laughed and reached over, slapping Gendry heartily on his back.

"Get ready for a night of Northern hospitality, lad. No dreary respectful banquets for these lot! The ale is strong and the ladies are soft and easy to talk to. They're not pathetic, mewling quims that we have in the South." Gendry managed a smile. He had heard rumours that the Northerners were far less fond of stiff, formal displays than the South, although he did not care for how him father talked about the women, being married with four children. His infidelity was a well-known secret, black haired bastards popped up everywhere if the king ever ventured out of the Red Keep. A few members of the Kingsguard and a small group of Goldcloaks cantered past, taking up their place in front of the king. No one thought that the Northerners would be hostile, but appearances had to be kept up.

The noises of the Keep got louder as they approached; villagers from the nearby town were gathered at the side of the road, looking on in wonder at the large, overly lavish procession. The hundred foot high walls of Winterfell loomed overhead, the grey rock hewn from the nearby land standing watch over the vastness of the North. The Keep had been there for hundreds of years, Gendry thought, and they will be here for hundreds after me and my great-grandchildren are dead and buried. Guards garbed in grey and silver and black patrolled, many pointing at their rapid approach. King Robert had upped the pace as they grew closer to the Keep, obviously eager to see his childhood friend, or more lightly to sit down and get raging drunk. The outer walls of Winterfell enveloped Gendry, the wooden bridge over the moat clanking under the iron-shod feet of his horse. The sounds rattled around under the stone arches getting louder as more horses walked over.

The courtyard opened up around them, filled with the inhabitants of the great fortress. Commoners and servants stood gaping in awe at the procession of knight and magnificently dressed members of the court, flouting their wealth like peacocks. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell stood like statues in the centre of the cobbled yard, their faces cold and uninviting. Their cloths, although colourless, were fine. Thick ruffs of black and grey fur sat upon their shoulders like manes, black cloaks scraped the ground from the men's shoulders. They were truly wolves, welcoming the peacocks to their den.

The King dismounted his horse, who seemed to sigh with relief at the loss of weight from its sore back, and strode over to the Lord of Winterfell. They exchanged a tense, stern greeting before embracing each other like brothers. Their years together at the Eyrie and fighting against the Mad King had forged their bond, stronger than blood, for they were brothers of the heart and mind. Gendry glanced at his own brother, who was sending smug, self-obsessed smiles at one of the Stark children, a tall girl with long auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Sansa maybe? Gendry pitied the poor girl to have caught the eye of his sadistic little brother. She would have no peace for the duration of their visit. He dismounted his horse and handed it to one of the stable-boys that were running to and fro, fetching the horses from the lords and ladies. His mother, sister and little brother climbed out of the wheelhouse, Myrcella and Tommen with great beaming grins on their faces, the awe and wonder at being in the heart of the North plastered on their faces. The Queen on the other hand had a disapproving scowl furrowed on her brows. Her disgust was evident on her face, the way she picked up the skirts of her dress and hurried her children along screamed how much she didn't want to be here. Gendry felt like laughing at her discomfort. He wasn't mean hearted by any means, but he had never gotten on with Cersei. As a child she had doted on him, being the first born and all, but the moment Joffrey had come along he had been pushed aside and replaced by the golden-haired prince. He loved her because she was his mother, not because she mothered him.

The King beckoned him over, introducing him to Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark. Despite their cold, stoic appearance they were welcoming and, after bowing as was expected, they greeted him warmly, without the stiff courtesy of the Lords in the South. He was then introduced to the Stark children. Sansa seemed like a proper lady, a year or two younger than him at most, her manners almost grating as she batted her eyelashes at him and spouted nonsense that had been drilled into her by her Septa. Bran and Rickon seemed nice enough boys, Bran entering his fourteenth year, while Rickon was still a child at nine, but both showing signs of being fierce warriors once they grew taller and stronger. Despite Catelyn Starks well know hatred for Jon Snow, he seemed like a very likeable person, albeit rather quiet compared to his trueborn brother. He definitely had the Stark looks, his dark hair and grey eyes much like Ned Stark's. The Stark children's Direwolves stood at their person's heels, ranging in colour from the black, semi-feral Shaggydog belonging to Rickon, to the ethereal white Ghost at Jon's side.

"Where are your other two Ned? I'm positive you had more than three!" King Robert chuckled loudly, his voice seeming to reach the very corners of the courtyard. Ned Stark shuffled awkwardly and Lady Catelyn's nostrils flared with what looked like anger.

"I apologise, Your Grace. Arya snuck out early this morning and Robb went to retrieve her. She has a tendency to bolt under pressure." The King grinned and slapped Ned on the back. Gendry felt his lips tug up in a small smile. He turned to Jon Snow.

"So your sister is as wild as they say?" Jon smirked and nodded.

"Yes I'm afraid she is. I don't envy the man who's forced to marry that girl. As much as I love her, she is a wolf through and through." Gendry scratched his chin. He was intrigued to meet the notorious Wolf of Winterfell. "She's almost as good as Robb with a sword and bow, and without a doubt the best rider I've ever seen," Jon glanced quickly at Gendry from the corner of his eye. "Wants nothing to do with any man not related to her, would rather spend time with that wolf of hers than other human beings." The dark haired Snow unconsciously scratched the large ear of his wolf. The beast was colossal, his shoulders reaching Jon's chest, yet it sat as placid as any trained dog, starring at Gendry with unnervingly intelligent, blood-red eyes. Gendry fought the urge to stroke the canine, despite his fearsome looks. Jon seemed to pick up on his curiosity.

"He won't bite. At least… not unless I tell him to." The white fur was thick and strangely soft under Gendry's broad hand. The Direwolf leaned into him, eyes half shutting as he enjoyed the attention. Jon seemed pleased that the wolf was reacting nicely to the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, his tense face relaxed.

A loud clattering of hooves and the sound of laughter echoed through the arches to the courtyard. Almost everyone in the vicinity turned to see the cause of the noise, except Catelyn Stark who covered her eyes with her hands in exasperation. Two young people galloped into the yard astride heaving mounts. The young man, who could only be Robb Stark with his handsome Tully features and grey and white cloak emblazoned with the Stark sigil, was laughing raucously as he pulled up his horse before it crashed into the onlookers filling the yard. The other person however was who drew Gendry's eyes. Long brown hair framed her strong yet beautiful features, bright grey-silver eyes shone from her alabaster skin. No dress covered her, instead she wore a long blue tunic, a pair of dark riding breeches and black leather boots. A black leather belt with a sharp steel dagger and a long, very thin blade was wrapped around her slender waist, a finely curved bow and a quiver of white fletched arrows were strung to her back. She reined in her horse with ease, a carefree look on her flushed face as she laughed in unison with Robb. She stopped as she noticed the entire Southern court staring at her with shock and disbelief. Arya Stark, The Wolf of Winterfell. Robb had dismounted and hurried to his father's side, his face red with embarrassment at the stares of the King and Queen.

"I apologise for my daughter's tardiness Your Grace, but…" Robert cut him off. Gendry almost laughed out loud when he heard his father compare himself and Ned Stark to the two who had just come galloping into a courtyard full of Southern dignitary and nobles. Arya Stark dismounted her horse and, with her head held high she walked towards her father with a purposeful stride. Lady Catelyn's eyes flashed with a concealed rage. She snapped a sharp, but still polite, command for the wild girl to return to her room, and once she had shoved her way through her siblings and stormed into the Keep, Lady Catelyn excused herself and hurried after her. What an odd girl! King Robert couldn't stop laughing as he watched the pair disappear.

"Gods doesn't she remind you of Lyanna, Ned? Even looks like her. If I didn't know any better I would have thought it was Lyanna!" The king mused, almost to himself, his face no longer jolly but nostalgic instead, and sad. The lord of Winterfells face was furrowed and stern. The Queen had gone rigid at the mention of the woman she had tried to replace. "Speaking of which, I'd like to see her Ned, pay my respects." Ned Stark nodded and dismissed the rest of his children. Cersei took a step towards her husband, trying to salvage what was left of his good mood.

"Surely the dead can wait, My Love." Robert glared at her like she had just told him she was a Targaryen. He shrugged her off and waddled away with Lord Stark to visit the crypts. Gendry stepped forwards to see if his mother was alright, her face had taken on a slightly stricken, crestfallen look.

"I'm sure he'll be fine later. Give him time to come round. He'll be back to his usual self before the night is done." Cersei turned to her eldest child with a glare on her face. Whenever she looked at him, all she could see was Robert, the man who often got so deep into his wine cups that he would forget where he was. Often in the night he would murmur the name of the dead Stark woman. When she looked at her other children, all she could think was how like her and Jaime they were. Gendry was a younger, taller version of his sire.

"Yes. Give him some wine and a whore and I'm sure he'll perk right up." The Queen snapped before sweeping off to find her other children and her brother, leaving Gendry alone in the rapidly emptying courtyard. The servants and maids were doing a fine job of settling everybody in, the weary knights and strained mounts were resting with food and water. Gendry stood, unsure of where he was supposed to be.

"If are not too tired tomorrow, My Lord, perhaps you would wish to spar with us." Robb Stark and Jon Snow bowed slightly before him, seeming quite at ease with talking to him. Gendry felt relieved that he had a chance of befriending the future Lord of Winterfell. Both Robb and Jon seemed easy to get along with, and not at all concerned about talking to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. It was refreshing, not to have little lords licking his boots to try and stay on his good side. He liked these Northerners.

"I would be glad to. Just Gendry is fine, I get enough of that 'My Lord' shit at home." Robb grinned.

"I know the feeling. How does our fair country compare with the grand splendour of Kings Landing?" Gendry sighed. He despised the place he grew up in, all the backstabbing and liars around every corner.

"The North is a fairer place than Kings Landing. The air is cleaner, the people are friendlier. Although I will say that it's bloody cold!" They all laughed at this.

"And we are still in summer. Come winter there will be snow so deep that it will cover the gates, and air so cold that breathing will freeze your lungs solid." The three men chatted back and forth for a while, comparing the North and the South. Jon seemed to speak up a bit more, and was less introverted than he first seemed. The Stark men were very much likeable, Gendry decided. They would have stayed like that for some time, talking and discussing favoured weapons etc. but a loud racket, slamming doors and shouting turned their heads.

The main door to the Keep was flung open so hard that it smacked loudly against the stone walls, and the girl who was Arya Stark sped out of it like she was being chased by hounds. Her face was a mask of anger and tears. She sprinted past them, heading towards the stables. Jon and Robb instantly took off after her, their brotherly instincts and concern for their little sister overriding everything else. Gendry jogged after them, not wanting to intrude but concerned for the strange Stark girl's wellbeing. A loud, shrieking voice came from the Keep and Gendry turned to see Lady Stark trotting out of the thick doorway, skirts in hand as she tried to run in her long dress. She looked hysterical, her face was red and she screamed Arya's name will a blood-curdling pitch that only came from being either furious or terrified. Arya had run into the stables and, as Jon, Robb and Gendry reached her, she burst out on a beautiful dapple-grey mare with a long, dark mane. She had no saddle, only a hastily slung on bridle, yet she controlled the horse with an elegant grace and ease that was enviable for even an advanced horseman. She shouted back at her brothers, claiming that she was fine and simply going for a ride before shooting out through the gates just as Lady Catelyn rounded the corner.

Pandemonium ensued, Lady Catelyn ordering the guards to go after her. Five men plus Robb threw themselves onto the saddled horses that were waiting in the yard to be exercised, and galloped after the runaway girl. Catelyn Stark was pacing back and forth, her brows furrowed so deeply that they almost met on her forehead. Jon's face was stern with worry.

"I know it's nothing to do with me and is not my place to ask, but, is your sister alright?" Jon sighed deeply, like a man far older than his years.

"She has always been a very independent girl, even when she was little, and she has a very strong defiant streak in her," Jon ran his hand through his messy black hair in stress. "She's never liked the idea of getting married and having children as is expected of her, and has fought Lady Stark tooth and nail about anything concerning marriage since the day she was considered old enough. From the sounds of it, Lady Stark has brought it up again and Arya didn't like it." Guards that had been disturbed by the commotion now milled in the stable yard, unsure as of what to do. Jon and Catelyn both had their eyes fixed on the gates, waiting for the return of the runaway girl. Gendry thought deeply on what Jon had said. Being a Stark, many lords were probably clamouring for the opportunity to wed Arya Stark. Being a girl, it was expected of her to marry whomever her father deemed fit. The fact that she defied convention and was so independent made just that much more interesting.

The clattering of hooves on the wooden drawbridge drew everyone's attention. The five guards and Robb cantered back in through the stone arch, minus Arya.

"What happened? Where is she?" Catelyn Stark attacked her eldest son with questions. Robbs eyes were sad and defeated.

"She outran us. That girl can ride, not to mention she was on that horse that father gave her. There was no way we could catch her. We'll have to wait until she comes back." Catelyn raised her hand in frustration.

"We need to find her. What will the Queen think if I can't even control my own daughter? What if she falls and hurts herself? What if she's attacked? What if…" Robb placed a comforting hand on his mother's shoulder.

"Arya has never fallen off a horse, and certainly not Visenya, that horse is as surefooted as a mountain goat. She can look after herself, and do not forget Needle. She said she would be home soon, so the least we can do is give her some time to cool down." Catelyn nodded stiffly and stormed off, muttering and curing about her errant child. Robb made his way over to Jon and Gendry.

"I doubt we could find her even if we looked. She was heading up towards the farmland before we lost her." Jon tilted his head slightly and frowned in thought.

"Maybe she doubled back in order to lose you. The only place that I could think of that she would go to at a time like this is the Godswood. I reckon if she's not back within the next couple of hours we should go and check there." Gendry pricked his ears up at this. He had always wanted to see a true Northern Godswood. They had a very large on in Kings Landing, with its own Heart Tree, but it always seemed out of place in the sweltering heat of the South. Robb turned to him.

"I apologise for this, Your Grace" Gendry shook his head.

"Don't apologise. All families have issues. If she doesn't return, I will help you find her. That is if you don't mind, the last thing I want to do is intrude on a family matter and get in the way." Both Jon and Robb looked surprised at his offer to help.

"You would not be intruding. Three is better than two, and taking guards would just piss her off even more. Come, we must go and tell father, if mother has not already." Gendry followed the Stark men back toward the Keep. Arya Stark was an enigma, one that he was curious and eager to unravel. Perhaps this trip North would not be so boring after all…


End file.
